As I write this, the governor of my state is on the verge of declaring Marshall Law. After the atrocious murder of George Floyd earlier this week, riots have broken out across Minnesota. At the time of my writing, almost 200 businesses have been looted and/or burned. And the 3rd Precinct, the police station at the epicenter of this hurricane, has been burned to the ground. People are angry and scared and despairing. Innocent lives on all sides of the racial lines are feeling the world-shattering savagery of injustice.
Henry, my two-year-old with Down syndrome, is playing quietly in his favorite spot, sometimes testing out the growing strength in his legs with a few steps here and there. Elyas, my three-year-old with autism, is jumping on his trainer trampoline and watching a movie. They have no idea of the injustice and violence and pain and desperation and fear taking over our state. But I can also guarantee you they will feel all these things themselves; we already get sideways looks when we’re in a store. We’re already on the receiving end of ignorant, hurtful comments. We already have to fight for opportunities most kids and parents will take for granted.
My sons will spend YEARS of their lives in various therapies and programs, trying to learn skills and behaviors just for a chance to try fitting into a culture that has made minimal room for them—and may still reject them for their differences.
How is any of this fair?
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As prenatal screenings and technologies become more advanced, the worldwide birth rate of children with Down syndrome has decreased a staggering 30 – 50% in the last few decades due to pressure to abort these babies. Iceland has “almost eliminated” Down syndrome, with a near 100% abortion rate with a prenatal diagnosis. And they applaud this.
Hitler literally instituted the same policy in 1939, extending the age all the way up to 3 years old.
This is genocide. Yet very few even know this is happening.
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I know people risking their lives to visit brothels and rescue victims of sex trafficking all over the world. They’ve rescued children as young as three who are being used and abused in horrific ways. Is there any justice on earth that can atone for the sins committed against these little souls?
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I was three when I was raped for the first time at the hands of an older child. Who was most likely, according to statistics, raped by an adult family member. I spent the next 17 years experiencing various sexual abuse, assault, and rape from a list of people way too long. And I was told by a trusted mentor that it was my fault.
I’ve been in positions where men and women refused to accept or acknowledge me because of my gender. I’ve been propositioned, spit on, called degrading gender and racial slurs. I’ve been threatened. I’ve been excluded, overlooked, “thrown under the bus,” and ignored because of something out my control yet core to my identity. When I spoke up, when I tried to find some sense of justice, I was told to “just get over it.
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The first time real justice entered a human system was in the Mosaic Law: An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
The idea that the punishment fit the crime was unheard of in the context and culture of that day. Because “justice,” as it existed, was predicated on retribution and vengeance, not fairness or rightness. You stole my sheep, so I’ll kill you. You killed my father, so I will kill your family. And so on. Violence begot violence, and the cycle continued to spiral. The stakes were forever rising until whole communities and people groups and nations were at war.
“An eye for an eye” revolutionized ancient justice systems. But it was never meant to be the culmination of justice.
We have the law because we cannot love.
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My heart burns for George Floyd. For Ahmaud Arbery. For Breonna Taylor. What happened to these three is beyond horrific; the system that has allowed this kind of hate to grow and manifest is even more vile.
My heart grieves for the families of these victims. For the countless other men and women who face daily discrimination—even death—because of the color of their skin, their socio-economic status, they way they look, their age, their gender.
In the face of such prevalent evil, would justice even feel satisfactory?
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The second time our earthly sense of justice was upended was in the life and death of Jesus. It suddenly became relational; Love entered the world. Reconciliation and right-relationship with God—and each other—became possible. And from this restored connection came an entirely new way of living. Both with God and each other.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Turn the other cheek.
Offer to walk another mile.
Lend and don’t expect anything back.
The first shall be last; the last shall be first
Turn over the money tables.
Call down the powerful who abuse their power.
Dine with the outcasts and marginalized and oppressed.
Whatever you do for the overlooked and ignored, you do to Me.
Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul.
Love your neighbor as yourself.
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The pain and treachery of injustice finds us all. I do not mean in any way to downplay the atrocities that have happened recently.
I do want to say that when we elevate one form of injustice as “the” injustice, we can make ourselves blind to the other wrongs around us, and we can perpetuate broken systems and spirals of violence. As Christians, we are not just called to fight for racial justice. We are called to fight for justice. Period.
Because justice is a crucial, important, and needed part of the journey; but it was never intended to be the destination. And our hope in a system, in a government, in a revolution, is misplaced.
Because to see the world as it is, is shortsighted. Jesus didn’t come to overthrow Rome. He came to overthrow death and destruction. To bring a subversive Kingdom that would topple our selfishness—our wickedness—and transform our hearts. That would bring forth Life from the ashes of our self-destruction even 2,000 years later. He came to make all things new.
He died to bring Justice.
He rose again to bring Redemption.
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I think, in our desire to see justice wrought, we forget that we are not fighting flesh and blood.
Yes, we are children of the earth. We were molded from the dust, and our flesh-and-blood actions need flesh-and-blood justice. But there is a bigger picture we will miss if earthly justice is where our hope lies.
Because we are also children of the Divine. God breathed Life into Adam and each of us ever since. The only power on earth that can topple broken systems and end cycles of violence and break systemic discrimination and set the captives free is found in breathing our prayers back to God. The first place to start fighting injustice is on your knees.
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My heart is heavy with all the hurt and pain of this world. I feel powerless to effect any change at all. I can write emails and make phone calls and stock food shelves and donate money and give away our possession to those who need them. But it feels so small.
And yet that is where we find the subversive Hope. Because one life changed can change another and then another and then another until an entire state, an entire system, an entire world feels the grip of Love that leads to Redemption.
I want justice to roll down like a river. A roaring river that carves its way through mountains thought immovable.
But even more than that, I want redemption. For God to breath Life into the dust and ashes of our destruction. For Him to birth something beautiful from the pain and anguish for all those children trafficked around the world. For all those people groups facing systemic genocide. For anyone who has been marked by the evil of this world.
For the families of George and Ahmaud and Breonna.
I crave Redemption with all I am. Because that is where we find Hope. Healing. Peace. Reconciliation.
And that is worth fighting for with each breath.
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